Mirror
by tinylexie
Summary: The thoughts of the Malfoys as they look at their reflections in the mirror during Deathly Hallows. Winner of Fanfiction Booker prize 2014 for an AU fic.
1. Suffocating Perfection

Lipstick. Check.

Makeup. Check.

Nail polish. Check.

Not a single hair out of place. Check.

On the surface, Narcissa looked perfect as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

But if someone was to really take a close look at the Pureblood wife and mother, they would be able to see that her pale face was not the result of makeup. No, it was the result of stress and fear.

If someone was to really take a close look at Narcissa, they would also be able to see how tired she was. They would also be able to see how close she was to completely falling apart and breaking.

But for a Pureblood, especially for a female Pureblood, there was nothing more important than appearance.

* * *

Narcissa could still remember how her mother had almost panicked when her youngest daughter had gotten her first pimple. After that incident, Druella Black had quickly made sure that Narcissa knew how to cast all the spells that would quickly destroy any imperfections on her face.

Narcissa had spent quite a bit of her time at Hogwarts fixing her face and the rest of her skin that could possibly be seen by the public instead of doing her homework and studying. If Lucius had not been around to help her out, Narcissa probably would have become completely lost.

Druella had not been worried about her daughter's grades, however.

"In a proper Pureblood woman, beauty is always more important than brains," Druella often told Narcissa, even after her youngest had become a married adult. "A beautiful Pureblood woman makes her husband look good as well. However, if a Pureblood woman looks common and ugly, that reflects poorly on her husband. And you don't want to hurt Lucius's public appearance, now do you, my little Cissy?"

"Of course not, Mother," Narcissa had replied both quickly and respectfully.

* * *

Narcissa remembered Lucius asking her one night in the Slytherin common room why she was so far behind in her homework.

"Is something bothering you, Narcissa?" Lucius had asked in a concerned voice, clearly ready to go curse whoever it was that was causing her such distress. "You're much too smart to be struggling like this."

Lucius was the only one who had ever called Narcissa smart, and it warmed her in the inside.

Even though she would have accepted it if Lucius had only wanted her for her beauty, she definitely appreciated the fact that he had given her a value that went beyond the surface of her skin.

"I'm having problems with pimples," Narcissa had explained, "and my mother doesn't like that."

Lucius had then nodded his head in understanding. Appearance was important for all Purebloods, and even though male Purebloods were given slightly more leeway than female Purebloods, Narcissa knew for a fact that Abraxas Malfoy would have never allowed his son out of the manor looking anything less than perfect.

The fact that Lucius's life behind the walls of Malfoy Manor was anything but perfect did not matter. All that mattered was that Lucius's life _looked_ perfect.

It was the same way with Narcissa.

"I can brew you a potion that will keep the pimples away for at least a month," Lucius had then said.

Even though she knew it wasn't proper, Narcissa had hugged Lucius in relief and gratefulness.

Lucius had been taken aback for a moment, but he awkwardly returned Narcissa's hug. And before he could help himself, a slight smile of genuine happiness had appeared on his face. And for that brief moment, Lucius's face had not reflected its usually coldness and hardness.

"Why didn't my mother teach me how to brew this?" Narcissa had asked Lucius when he had handed her a dosage of the potion. "It definitely would make keeping my skin perfect a lot easier and a lot quicker, and it doesn't look that difficult to make."

Lucius hesitated for a moment before saying, "Your mother probably didn't know about this potion."

That had been Lucius's diplomatic way of saying that Druella Black did not use her brains like he thought she should.

* * *

It was hard, though, to let go of a lifetime of training and breeding.

Narcissa's world was shattering all around her, but that didn't mean she shouldn't still look her best. Her mother would want her to look her best.

Narcissa met the reflection of her eyes in the mirror. She was close enough to see the tears that were starting to form.

But at least she looked beautiful. And at least she would look perfect as she cried.

That was, of course, until her tears ruined her makeup.

And then she would have to start the whole beautifying process all over again. Then, she would look perfect again.

And she would look perfect until she started crying again.

That, of course, would mean once again doing the whole beautifying process.

It was a never ending cycle that was quickly draining Narcissa of all her energy and strength.


	2. Marked Property

**Author's Note****: I read on Harry Potter Wiki that the prisoners of Azkaban had their card numbers tattooed into their necks, so I just had to do something with that in this chapter.**

**Additional Author's Note: This chapter has been slightly edited from its original version based on a review that I received; but it is only a minor change, and the change occurs towards the end.**

* * *

Lucius didn't really want to take a bath, but he also didn't want to smell worse than he had in Azkaban. Besides, the least that he could do for his wife was to smell decent, especially after he had made such a disaster out of her life. Narcissa was constantly living in fear for herself and for her family, and it was all Lucius's fault.

Really, taking a bath was the least that he could do for her.

But Lucius really hated getting naked. He hated looking at his skin.

* * *

Lucius caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Unlike Narcissa, he did not bother with keeping a perfect appearance. His long hair was unkempt and had lost most of its luster. His face looked rough and exhausted. His eyes reflected his constant terror for himself and for his family. His eyes reflected just how broken and defeated he felt. Overall, he looked as if he had aged several years in a very short period of time.

The Dark Lord found a lot of amusement in Lucius's less-than-perfect appearance. The Dark Lord thought that Lucius was truly accepting his punishment for being such a failure and a disappointment.

But what the Dark Lord didn't know was that this was really Lucius's way of rebelling. The Malfoy patriarch no longer had many ways in which he could rebel, but the least he could do was no longer care about how he looked on the outside. He was tired of trying to look perfect on the outside, especially considering that he had never felt perfect in the inside.

At long last, his outer appearance was reflecting what he truly felt in his inside.

But Lucius still didn't like his skin. The way that his skin looked had nothing to do with rebellion. It had everything to do with accepting and with being a proper Pureblood.

* * *

Lucius looked at the Dark Mark on his left arm. For Bellatrix, it was a badge of pride. But for Lucius, it was a mark of slavery.

It was a mark that showed that Lucius belonged to someone else beside himself. It was a mark that showed that Lucius was not his own master and that his life was not his own.

Lucius had always known this, of course. He had always known that he didn't truly matter to the Dark Lord, and that he was nothing more than a piece of property that was kept around for as long as he remained valuable and useful in some way.

Lucius had never been as foolish as most of the other Death Eaters.

But until now, Lucius had not really cared. He had just accepted it. He had just accepted that he was nothing more than someone else's property.

All that Lucius had cared about was preserving the Pureblood population, the Pureblood population which was constantly decreasing. He had been willing to accept that he was nothing more than the Dark Lord's slave, just as long as his kind continued to thrive.

Everything had changed, though, when the Dark Lord had "liberated" Lucius from Azkaban.

Upon arriving back at Malfoy Manor, it had not taken long before Lucius had seen the Dark Mark on Draco's left arm.

Lucius had never wanted his son to be someone else's property, to be someone else's slave. Lucius had wanted his son to have a life that was his own.

It was becoming harder and harder for Lucius to accept the Dark Mark. He could accept it on himself, but he couldn't accept it on Draco. He wanted a better life for Draco than a life of slavery.

Lucius was just grateful that Narcissa had never been Marked. He was glad that she was still pure and untainted. He was glad that her skin was still perfect.

* * *

Lucius's eyes drifted away from his Mark. He then found himself looking once again at his reflection in the mirror.

And once again, he saw it. He saw the numbers that had been tattooed on his neck after he had been sentenced to Azkaban.

Another mark on his skin. Another mark that showed that he was someone else's property and that his life was not his own. Another mark of all his failures in life.

Azkaban may have had literal bars, but Lucius now realized that he had always been living in a cage, with heavy chains weighing down his arms. He had always been living for someone else besides himself.

He now realized that he did not know what freedom meant.

* * *

Bellatrix was proud of both her Dark Mark and her numbers on her neck because both of those marks showed her loyalty and her devotion to the Dark Lord. The marks showed the honor that she felt for being willing to sacrifice herself and to suffer for the Dark Lord.

But for Lucius, there was no honor in being loyal and devoted to the Dark Lord. There was no honor in being marked in any way.

Once again, Lucius found himself thinking about Draco. Would Draco one day be marked as a prisoner of Azkaban as he had been? Or would Draco end up dead? Lucius couldn't decide which fate would be worse for his son. He could only hope that Draco would survive all this, without having to be marked again. But most of the time, it was hard to have much hope, especially in regards to Draco's well-being.

* * *

Lucius had to look away from his reflection. He just wanted to have clean skin for once. He just wanted to belong to himself for once.

But that would never be possible. The marks would never go away. The marks would be forever tattooed into his skin.

Even if Lucius was to somehow regain the Dark Lord's favor, he would never be truly free. No matter what, he would always be someone else's property.

His marked skin would always reflect that.


	3. False Entitlement

Draco's parents had always told him that he was better than everyone else. Therefore, he was expected to show his superiority.

Draco knew that he had often failed to do that in his father's eyes. His father, for instance, was disappointed when Hermione Granger beat Draco in every exam in his first year, especially considering that Hermione was a Mudblood, someone not worthy to practice magic.

"I know that you are a smart boy, Draco," Lucius would often say, "but you need to apply yourself. You need to actually work for your grades."

"I don't see why I should have to work so hard," Draco had retorted on one occasion. "I'm a Malfoy. I have all the money in the world. I don't need to worry about working."

"We have as much money as we do because we have worked hard to maintain it and to increase it," Lucius had returned sharply. "All that money will quickly disappear if it is handled foolishly."

"Yes, Father," Draco replied. He rolled his eyes, though, when Lucius wasn't looking.

Draco really did like earning his father's approval, and he really did respect everything that his father represented. But Draco also appreciated how much easier things were with his mother. He didn't have to work to win her approval and her love. She just gave those things freely.

And despite his father's sometimes stern and harsh words, Lucius usually spoiled him just as much as his mother did. Draco got almost everything that he wanted.

* * *

Draco had thought that he was so special. He had thought that he was entitled to everything and that he deserved to have whatever he wanted.

But as Draco now looked at his reflection in the mirror, he saw a young man that looked anything but special or entitled.

Draco looked old, much older than his seventeen years. He looked tired and worn out. At the same time, though, he looked younger than his years. He looked like a frightened little boy who was still scared of his own shadow.

The slightest noise made Draco jump in fear. He swore that the Dark Lord was hiding in every shadow, even though the rational part of him knew that the Dark Lord wasn't always at the manor. But lately, it was often hard for him to be rational.

Draco had used to be so confident in himself. Many would say that he had been nothing more than an arrogant bully.

But now he was the one being constantly bulled. And he no longer had any arrogance left in him.

He used to feel like he was the greatest thing that had ever walked the planet, but now he felt like nothing.

Only now was Draco finally starting to appreciate his father's hard lessons and words. His father had been trying to prepare himself for a situation like this. His father had wanted him to have the strength to hold himself together and to not fall apart when things weren't going his way.

But since Draco had allowed himself to be so spoiled, he had never prepared himself for being in a situation in which his family's name and wealth meant nothing. Draco might as well be poor and common.

* * *

If only Draco had been able to murder Dumbledore. He could have redeemed his family in the Dark Lord's eyes.

But no, Draco wouldn't change that. Despite everything, a part of Draco was glad that he had not murdered the old man.

Draco still remembered his father looking at his Dark Mark one day and saying, "That Mark isn't you, Draco. That Mark is a sign of being tainted, and you're not tainted. I just wish you could stay that way, but I'm afraid that one day you will have to do something you really don't want to do."

"I don't know if I can do that, Father," Draco had replied. "I'm too weak for that."

"You're not weak, Draco," came Narcissa's voice suddenly.

Both Lucius and Draco had looked up. They then had watched as Narcissa had approached them.

"You showed great courage by not doing what everyone else wanted you to do," Narcissa had then explained to her son, touching his shoulder gently. "I wish I had your courage."

"As do I," Lucius had added. "You should be proud of yourself, Draco. You made your own decision that night on the tower instead of following someone else's decision."

Despite his parents' words, though, Draco had still felt worthless.

* * *

As Draco looked at his reflection in the mirror, he felt as if he couldn't do anything right, no matter how hard he tried. He was always failing the Dark Lord. He was always disappointing his Aunt Bellatrix and earning her scorn instead of her approval.

And because Draco was such a failure and a disappointment, his life along with the lives of his parents was constantly at risk.

And to think, he had used to believe that he was so special and so entitled.

He had been such a fool.


End file.
